Punk'd

At around 7:30pm last night, Billy and I returned home from my dear friends' wake and memorial service both emotionally and physically exhausted. *Note: this whole "Wake Wednesday" business needs to stop. Seriously. If someone else close to me dies, please schedule the wake on a day other than Wednesday. I'm really starting to hate Wednesdays.

I digress.

I was in the bedroom, finally getting out of my work clothes, when Billy came charging in exclaiming, "Someone has been in our house! Who do you know that has a key?! Someone's been in here!" So there I was, half-naked and completely freaked out that someone robbed us -- and also wondered why the heck someone would want to rob the poorest couple on the block. Before I could bust out my jeet kune do (see Tuesday's post), Billy explained that someone had come in and just "left stuff all over the kitchen." Then I started thinking that one of the maintenance guys had been in and left a monkey wrench or a rotor-rooter thingiemajig.

I followed Billy into the kitchen to find our counter and refrigerator FILLED with groceries. Neatly tucked next to the package of Double Stuf Oroes was a card from several of our near and dear friends. They have witnessed our "Hell Week" (see last week's post), and since they know that I would downright refuse any sort of sympathetic gesture, they went into stealth mode and blessed us big time. Needless to say I broke down into tears (while Billy broke into the Oreos) in gratefulness for such wonderful and caring friends.

So although I am a tiny bit peeved that I was totally punk'd, thank you guys. We love you.

Comedic Relief

For those of you who know me, you know that I cannot stay serious for very long. At one point or another in any serious conversation or situation, I have to crack a joke and laugh. At my cousin's funeral, for example, I leaned over to my sister and requested that they play AC/DC's "Back in Black" at my funeral procession and to make sure that the coffee bar stays replenished for the guests. Needless to say, I received the "be-mindful-of-where-you-are" look from my mother. I get that look a lot.

But in all honesty, humor is a coping mechanism for me. I don't like to cry and if I do, you can bet your bottom it'll be for a good reason (like the end of Old Yeller) and will be in the privacy of my own home (unless I'm watching said movie at my parents'). Yes, it's been a crappy few weeks in the Heller household, but don't think for a second that I'm going to be all doom and gloom about it. That's no fun.

That being said, here's a fun story. Last night my husband and I brought our friends Dale & Emily along to our self-defense/kickboxing/jeet kune do/mixed martial arts/roll on the floor until you pass out/wrestling class. First, a bit of background on our husbands: Dale is a black belt in Judo (if that even exists -I don't know) and has a background in Brazilian jiu jitsu. Billy was a state qualifier in wrestling and went the majority of his high school career undefeated. Both are major meatheads and spend the majority of their time together either in the gym or talking about going to the gym. Last night they brought along mouthguards, water bottles, cups (not for drinking), and boxing pads in preparation.

Then there's Emily and I. Sure I have an athletic background, but when it comes to any sort of self-defense, I resort to my south side Chicago upbringing: kick 'em in the junk and run like hell. Emily, being the 'bama belle that she is, would politely ask the perp to please back away and consider the consequences of his actions. We brought along our purses, sweatshirts, hair ties, and lip gloss in preparation. Put the two of us together, add our brawling husbands and one very patient instructor, and you've got yourself a show!

The boys spent most of the night rolling around on the floor and learning different ways to make the other pass out. Emily and I high-fived each other every time we used the correct form. The boys took pride in hurting each other and boasted about their rug burns and twisted knees. Emily and I prided ourselves on throwing punches without breaking a nail. The boys talked about MMA, fighting stances, and workout programs the entire ride home. Emily and I talked about our childhoods. Overall, I'd say the night was a success.

P.S. To redeem my pride, I have to tell you that I wrestled Billy to the ground and knocked out his contact. I'm not just a pretty face...

Be Still and Know

Remember how I mentioned in my last post that I have nothing else going on in my life right now other than my marriage?

I lied.

I was talking to a good friend of mine the other day, and I admitted to her that I couldn't handle the events in my life but for the grace of God. A brief synopsis: my neighbor (and adopted father) from back home is losing his battle with pancreatic cancer and most likely won't make it through the end of this week, my cousin JeniLou was recently killed in an auto accident leaving behind her two year old and 5 week old sons, our dear friends Lance and Tiffany's infant daughter Ailey is undergoing surgery this morning for a constricted small intestine, and Billy received a letter last week from Matteson revoking their offer of employment for no apparent reason.

Years ago -- heck, even months ago I would very quickly and very easily allow the events of my life to dictate my emotions. Whenever something didn't go according to my plan, I would instantly begin to doubt God's sovereignty. My faith was strong until the storms hit. But now, I have found hope that the Lord works in all things for the good of those who love Him. My heart breaks for Rick and Sharon, Uncle Mike and Aunt Kerry, Lance and Tiffany, and for Billy -- but above all else I hold fast to the truth that God is working and will continue to be faithful. I praise the Lord that He has given me this peace, this assurance, and this strength to see life through His eyes rather than my own. And so, though the storms may swell, even then, it is well and He is still good.

"Be still, and know that I am God." -Psalm 46:10

Why Did I Get Married? (Part I)

I know I said that I would limit my posts about marriage, but really, there's not much else going on in my life right now that's worth blogging about. Besides, the fact that I actually got married should be entertaining in and of itself!

So why did I take the plunge into eternal monogamy? A few not-so-obvious and rather trivial reasons:

1. I wake up every Wednesday morning to find a fresh garbage bag liner in my kitchen can and the garbage cans lined up neatly at the end of the driveway. It's like I have my own Garbage Fairy --er, I mean -- Warrior. Garbage Warrior.
2. Duke. Finally I get to fulfill my dream of driving a truck. And not just any truck -- a half-ton, dual exhaust beast of a Chevy. Dreams do come true.
3. I no longer have to get out of bed to get a drink of water or turn off the light. All it takes is a simple, "Honey...". (Now, I realize that this privilege will be short lived, so I'm taking full advantage while I can.)
4. Bottles upon bottles upon BOTTLES of ProActiv solution. Apparently Billy signed up for it before we married, forgot to cancel his order, and now we have an endless supply of facial cleanser, toner, and moisturizer under our sink. Dry skin? Oily T-Zone? Let us know -- we can hook you up.
5. My house smells like a GQ magazine. Don't ask me why he needs to spritz cologne before going to work at a juvenile dentention center, but hey -- I'm not complaining.
6. I don't have to worry if I forgot to lock the door, shut the window, or close the blinds. One perk of marrying a former security guard is the assurance that the house is in a continual state of lockdown.
7. Pancakes and CMT after church on Sunday. Since I barely resemble a human being much before 9am, and since Billy insists on going to the 8:30am service, he rewards my good stewardship by making me breakfast and watching the Top 20 Countdown.
8. At the end of the day, no matter how stressful or hectic it was, I find comfort in knowing that at least one person in this world is rooting for me. And though that person farts in bed, leaves the shower curtain open, and drinks expired milk, I wouldn't trade him for the world.

She's Gone Country

Since I'm a sucker for a good story, I spent the greater majority of my workday yesterday reading Pioneer Woman's "From Black Heels to Tractor Wheels." (Don't worry -- I managed to compose and send out 8 new business leases so the day wasn't a complete loss.) If you have time, and enjoy a real-life love story, I would highly recommend reading her blog. After five minutes of perusing her website, I was convinced I had met my kindred spirit of sorts. True, Olivet is a far cry from law school, my only experience in LA is getting lost at LAX while trying to get to Disneyland, and Billy certainly isn't a cattle rancher -- but she reminded me of the life I so greatly desire.

When I was a kid, I always dreamed of marrying a cowboy and living on a horse ranch (along with becoming an Olympic gymnast, an astronaut, a forest ranger, and the next Alanis Morrisette but that's beside the point). At the age of 5, I rode my first horse -- a dapple gray named Cody -- at our church camp in northern Wisconsin. I was hooked. From jr. high through my freshman year of college I spent nearly every summer wrangling horses at the same camp. Believe it or not, I loved getting up at 4am to feed out, spending 12+ hour days baling hay in 90 degree weather, leading umpteen middle, junior high, and high schoolers on trail rides, and working my butt off for next to no pay. This city girl from the south suburbs of Chicago learned how to hitch up a draft team and drive a wagon, correctly file down a horse's hoof, administer oral and intravenous de-wormer, and at one point I could groom, saddle, and bridle a horse in less than 20 minutes. Call me crazy, but there's still no smell like the combination of leather and a sweaty horse. I loved this job and wanted to do it forever.

Unfortunately reality set in shortly after my senior year of high school, and I had to make the "rational" decision to attend a four year college rather than stay the camp and work full time.
Yes, this degree (and the pursuit of it) has provided tremendous opportunities -- I traveled and studied in a foreign country, made the best of friends a woman could ask for, developed a personal relationship with God, met my amazing husband, and now have a decent job in a crumbling economy. And yes, though I have created a pretty good life for myself, I find myself wanting something else. I want more than the 8 to 5, the business cards and the power suits. If I'm honest, I'm not much of a forward thinker, an innovator, or a revolutionist. Somehow in college I lost track of the "wrangler Lauren" and decided that a left-wing progressionist is the way to go.

The real Lauren is most comfortable in her "fat jeans" and Laredos, driving her Chevy, and singing along with Alan Jackson. Though I do enjoy a good piece of sushi now and then, you're more likely to find me eating grits at the local Cracker Barrel. My now husband didn't propose in a fancy French restuarant or atop the Hancock Observatory -- he sang a country song at a line-dancing bar in Indiana. Sure I love being pampered now and then, but give me a tent, a fire, and the open country and I'm a happy girl. So I have a piece of paper saying that I haven't failed in life, yet I feel as though I failed myself.

So really, I guess I want to apologize for not being me. I shouldn't be ashamed of my husband's "American Lawman" belt buckle or my future .22 gauge pump-action shotgun (sorry, mom!). I'm by no means a redneck --I still love the GAP and will sell my soul for Starbucks somedays --but I'm much more homegrown than I thought. And I thank Pioneer Woman for bringing me back to reality.